


making it official

by MsCFH



Series: Winter Writing Prompts [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-19 10:30:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22776361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsCFH/pseuds/MsCFH
Summary: Prompt Fill."You jokingly suggest we send out holiday cards together as friends so we do, and now everyone is congratulating us for finally getting together."
Relationships: Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell
Series: Winter Writing Prompts [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1637428
Comments: 11
Kudos: 174





	making it official

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for spelling or grammar mistakes, this is unbeta'd.

Margaery blinked her eyes open and closed them again only half a second later, wishing desperately she could go back to the blessed state of being passed-out. Her body was not generous enough to grant her that relief, instead more and more discomforts worked itself into her mind. 

Her head was pounding a bit more with every thought, her mouth felt dry as sandpaper, and she thought she could taste the remains of red wine and something sugary. The lingering taste not helping along with nausea that enwrapped her entire existence.

A body shifted beneath with a groan. That, along with the sound of a hand tapping on the surface of the couch table, brought her attention to what woke her in the first place. 

“Shut up,” Sansa whined pitifully, the obnoxious alarm sound of a phone coming physically closer, letting Margaery feel like her head would explode any minute. 

The silence that followed when Sansa, at last, managed to turn it off was nothing sort of divine. Margaery’s body relaxed back into … well, it did not feel like her bed. 

Reluctantly she blinked her eyes back open, discovering her suspicion to be true. She was not in her bed, but instead on the living room couch. Half of her body was on top of Sansa, the other half squished between Sansa and the backrest. 

When searching her mind for an explanation of why she was here, and why she felt like dying, the memory of the previous night returned slow.

What she could see of the living room was chaotic. Remains of wrapping paper and ribbons were spread everywhere over the floor. Three empty bottles of wine lined up on the couch table, along with empty glasses, two cups and plates with half-eaten cookies. The half-empty bottle of gingerbread liquor had her stomach do a small turn, and she squeezed her eyes back shut before she could give the still glowing lights on the Christmas tree a proper examination. 

She buried her face into the warm darkness that the crook of Sansa’s neck offered, bringing along a pitiful noise of discomfort. 

“Ditto,” was all that Sansa muttered back, as she cuddled into the embrace, and brushed a hand through Margaery’s curls. 

That certainly had escalated.

When she’d gotten home from work last night, the living room had already resembled a Christmas workshop. She’d found Sansa sitting on the floor, amidst various half-wrapped presents, shipping bags with all kinds of Christmas decorations and a cup of eggnog. 

Ugh. The eggnog. 

Margaery had known that Sansa felt homesick more than ever with not being able to go home for the holidays this year, but she’d had not expected that it would manifest in such sheer blind holiday activism; like the fir tree set up next to their TV or the smell of Christmas cookies hanging in the air, along with Christmas songs blasting through the speakers. 

Any other year Margaery was not someone who placed too much importance on Christmas. In the past, when still living alone, she’d barely bothered with more than one or two items of decoration, and maybe, if she had felt really festive, couple of light strings here and there. Unsurprisingly it had not taken more than Sansa cheerfully smiling at her and gushing about all she had planned to make their place more festive and Margaery had been infected with the holiday spirit. 

She’d quickly declared the decoration of the tree as her duty, simply because if she had to look at one in the middle of her living room, she refused it to be an eyesore. She trusted Sansa’s taste any other day, but not in this level of enthusiasm; there were several multi-coloured packs of lametta within her shopping bags. 

The first bottle of wine -after they had finished the eggnog- had been, much to her dismay now, Margaery’s idea. 

The second one had followed once the tree was beautifully decorated, and most of the presents were wrapped. 

Things got a bit blurry around the third one, but she did recall Santa hats, some dancing and singing along to Christmas songs, and an extensive amount of Christmas cookies. 

Sometime after that, somewhere during their drunken musings about Christmas and how it could never come back to the magic it had held during their childhood, they must have dozed off on the couch. 

Trying to recall all of that, was as much activity as Margaery found herself capable off and gratefully her body did grant her some more sleep.

When she woke again, it was already dusk outside, an indicator that she must have slept into the late afternoon. So much for productivity on her Saturday off. 

The worst of the headache seemed to have vanished, for now, only the dryness of her mouth and her queasy stomach prevailed. So much, that her need for a sip of water became stronger than her wish not to move. 

She detangled herself from a still sound-asleep Sansa and sat on the other end of the spacious couch running a hand through tangled hair and over still heavy eyes, feeling slightly dizzy sitting upright. 

Gods. No more drinking had just moved to the very top of her list for new year’s resolutions. 

She dragged her way into the kitchen, and when she took the first sip of ice-cold water, she swore to never have tasted anything better in her life. 

Retrieving a second bottle for Sansa out of the fridge she made her way back to the living room, finding Sansa, now also awake, shifted up on the couch with her head propped against the armrest. 

Margaery held out the bottle in a wordless compassionate smile, that broadened to a small smirk when Sansa reached for it eagerly. 

“I love you so much right now,” Sansa exclaimed in a groan, greedily drinking the fresh water. 

Margaery sat down on the armrest next to Sansa’s head and emptied half the contains of her own bottle. 

She ran a hand through tousled red hair. “How are you feeling, darling?”

Screwing the cap on a half-empty bottle, Sansa made a face as she glanced up at Margaery. “I am never drinking with you again.”

“I’m never drinking with myself again, either.”

She looked around the disorder of the room. She could not be bothered right now, even if the type-A side of her personality was appalled by it. 

“I will go take a shower,” she announced, getting back to her feet. After sleeping in her clothes, she wanted nothing more than get out of them as quickly as possible, yearned to feel clean again. “How about some nice greasy hangover take-out later?”

“Yes, please,” Sansa returned with an enthusiastic nod. 

The shower rejoiced Margaery’s spirits a good deal. She retrieved from the bathroom a good forty minutes later in a fresh pair of sweats and an old KLU shirt; her wet hair wrapped into a towel. 

It appeared that Sansa had used the time to take care of most of the chaos already, or at least, transfer it out of sight into the kitchen. 

Margaery plopped down on the couch, turning on her now recharged phone. “Any particular cravings?,” she called out to Sansa who was rummaging around in her bedroom. 

“I would murder for Advarks’ right now,” Sansa’s voice sounded through the half-opened door; a moment later she emerged, hair freshly brushed and wearing a bathrobe. “If that aligns with your own cravings.”

“I would have reconsidered living with you if you’d suggested anything else,” Margaery shot back, typing her PIN into her phone. 

“Will you get me a… ham and-”

“Ham and mushrooms, with extra mozzarella,” Margaery deadpanned her standard order. “Brownie for dessert too?”

Sansa smiled and raised her eyebrows. “Is that a serious question?”

Margaery smirked at the roll of Sansa’s eyes that was flung her direction before she disappeared behind the bathroom door. 

The same smirk melted into confusion, when, as wanting to dial the number of their favourite pizza place, notification after notification popped up on her phone. Her stomach dropped. Wasn’t that just the last thing you wanted to wake up to after a night of drinking. 

Fifteen notifications from Instagram, eight unread messages and three missed calls. 

Always someone to rip off the band-aid quickly, Margaery tapped on the Instagram notifications, breathing an initial chuckle of relief when instead of some embarrassing picture or video exposing their drunken exertions. Instead, she found a selfie of herself and Sansa, wearing their Santa heads and posing in front of their Christmas tree. Their level of intoxication not visible at first glance.

She did remember that. They had actually gotten out the impulsively bought Selfie-Stick to get a decent photo of them and their tree. The one she’d -evidently- ended up posting was one where Sansa was smiling brightly into the camera, while she was pressing a kiss to her cheek; the lights and decorations of the tree lining the background. 

Her smirk broadened when she read the caption.

 **margaerytyrell** _  
Happy Holidays to all of our loved ones from Sansa and Margaery!_ 🎄 _#makingitofficial #ourchristmastreeisprettierthanyourchristmastree #soblessedtobecelebratingwiththisone_ ****

The relief once again drained away and replaced by freshly blooming irritation when she scrolled down to the comment section.

 **d** **any** **.targ** _Cuties_ _💕_ _Merry Christmas to you too!_ _😘_

 **starkb** **ran** **don** _About time you two make it official!_   
**arya.st** _Right?! **@**_ ** _j_** ** _on_** ** _1310_** _Pay up._

**robbstark** **@** **san.stark** 🤔 😏 _So that’s the reasons you are skipping Christmas at home?_

 **jeyne.isthebest** _Fucking finally!!_ _!!!_ 🙏 🙏 🙏 _Want to hear all the details when I come back!_

 **thereallorastyrell** _Congratulations you two! Happy the veil of obliviousness fell at last._  
**arya.st** _@ **thereallorastyrell**_ _It was getting painful to watch.  
_**thereallorastyrell** _Gods yes._

 **c.tully-stark** _What great news! You two make an adorable couple, I am delighted that things worked out for you._ 😘

 **brienne.of.t** _Congratulations and happy holidays!_

 **stm** **ya** ***** _Merry Christmas!_ 🎅 _Enjoy your first holiday as a couple!_

 **etyrell** _Insanely happy for the two of you!_ 💗 😘 _Happy Holidays!_

 **THE.greyjoy** 🤨 _You two_ _. T_ _ogether…_ 🤯 _is more than my poor brain can handle._ 🤤😏 _  
_**yara.greyj** _@ **THE.greyjoy**_ _Don’t be a creep. **@**_ ** _san.stark_** **** ** _@margaerytyrell_** _Congrats you two!_

 **baratheon.renly** _Could not ask for a better girlfriend for my_ _favorite_ _sister-in-law._

Margaery did not know whether to laugh or to be horrified. What the fuck was happening here? So much for last night escalating. 

She scrolled back up and looked at the picture again. 

Fine, yes. Out of context, it could appear like something a couple posted. The caption did perhaps not help that impression along. But both she and Margaery had dozens of pictures like that on their phones. 

The way their friends and families -dear gods, Sansa’s mom- commented sounded like… like what even? Like this was something everyone had just been waiting for to be announced? Like they had been unofficially dating?

It was ridiculous. Sansa was her friend. Her best friend. Her roommate for almost a year now. Sure, they were affectionate with each other, and maybe Margaery did have—

Automatically, Margaery swiped across the screen, finding that the missed calls were from Loras, as were the majority of the unread messages. 

**Loras Tyrell, 08:43**  
_I am disappointed Marg. I would have at least expected a personal revelation of this new development._  
😪

 **Loras Tyrell,** **09:20**  
_So that you are not answering lets me suspect that you have better things to do?_ 🙄

 **Loras Tyrell,** **09:21**  
_S_ _till mad at you btw that I had to find out along with everyone else._ 😑 _  
I thought our bond was more special, Marg._ _  
Also. I do literally live around the corner._

**Loras Tyrell,** **11:24  
** _Just so you know, I am dying for details.  
Not that I ever doubted you, but landing Sansa Stark for sure is an accomplishment._

**Loras Tyrell,** **13:07**  
_MARGAERY!_  
⚠️ ⚠️ ⚠️ ⚠️ _  
Sister of mine!  
Come up from between your girlfriends’ legs and answer me._

**Loras Tyrell,** **14:02  
** _You know… I had never known you as someone who just abandons everyone else for their s/o._

**Loras Tyrell,** **14:40  
** _But what do you know… looks like you are THAT person.  
Again. Disappointed._ 😶

While still contemplating, how to hell to get a hold of this mess, Lora’s name popped up on her screen with an incoming call. 

She glanced quickly towards the bathroom where she could hear water running, then got to her feet and went into the kitchen, where she answered the call. 

“Hey.”

“She has risen from the dead!,” Loras exclaimed, way too cheerful considering her hangover and confusion; the way he said it she could not be sure he was talking to her or making an announcement in the room he was in. “Or risen from post-orgasmic bliss?”

Margaery leaned back against the kitchen counter, and the fingers of her free hand came to her temple, where she felt her headache from before resurfacing. “You got everything entirely wrong.”

“No orgasm then?”

“No orgasm, or sex,” Margaery hissed quietly into the phone. 

“I guess the two of you taking it slow should not surprise me,” Loras quipped back. 

“There is nothing to—We are—,” she took a deep breath, wrapping an arm around her middle. “This is all a huge misunderstanding.”

Like always, he picked up on her upset tone immediately, dropping his teasing in the same breath. “What’s going on, Marg? Is everything okay?”

“No,” she breathed out. 

“Tell me what has happened?,” he asked gently. 

Margaery turned to the window and brushed some remaining cookie crumbs off the counter. 

What had happened was that everyone assumed she and Sansa were dating. 

“That Instagram post,” she still did not know how to put it in words. “All those comments… Why would everyone just assume Sansa and I are a couple?”

She could hear the smirk returning to her brother’s face. “Eh, because we have watched you dance around each other for months now?”

“No.” Margaery quickly shook her head. “There has been no dancing around. We are friends.”

“Clueless lesbians is what you are,” Loras deadpanned.

“Loras.”

“Clueless bisexuals then,” he joked, lightly while she felt more and more impatient. 

“We had a couple of drinks last night,” Margaery explained. “We took that picture for fun. As friends. Nothing beyond that happened.”

The line went quiet for so long that Margaery wondered if they had been cut off. When Loras spoke again, she wished the line had gone dead. 

“But you do like her?”

“That’s not the point,” she gave back quietly. 

“It’s precisely the point.”

He was infuriating when he knew he was right, and this time she remained silent, staring outside to where the sun had almost disappeared for the day. A knot formed itself in her gut when she thought of all the people assuming that they were a couple now. 

Yes, of course, she found was attracted to Sansa. One would have to be blind not to be. And perhaps she had the tiniest bit of a crush on her, but Sansa had not shown the slightest hint that she reciprocated that. It felt humiliating that so many other people had picked up on the feelings she harboured for her. 

The thought of having to clear up this misunderstanding made her want to sink into the ground at this very moment. 

“She likes you too, you know?” Loras surged ahead cautiously when a minute had passed without a single word from her. 

Margaery closed her eyes and swallowed the knot that had moved from her stomach to her throat back down. “She doesn’t.” A beat. “How would _you_ even know that?”

“Because I have eyes,” he returned, his tone somewhere between patronizing and exasperated. “And obviously I am not alone. For Gods’ sake, we have bets running when you two fools will get to your senses.”

“Really?” She hated how little and meek her voice sounded. 

“Did you notice how not a single person commenting seemed surprised?”

Margaery felt her heart rate pick up; the queasy feeling had returned to her stomach, only it had become of an different quality. Still, the nervousness and the reluctance did not magically disappear. 

“What if you’re wrong?”

Loras laughed. “I’m not wrong. In fact, I’m never wrong." 

Gods, was she crazy enough to consider this? 

But what other options did she have? The stupid post was out there, along with all the reactions and congratulations from their families and friends; even deleting it would not make a difference at this point. 

"You’ve been wrong plenty of times,” she shot back at him. “And if you are wrong with this; if she doesn’t like me back, you better know that I am moving in with you and that I am taking your—”

Margaery didn’t get any further, stopped in her twirling around, her free hand subtly reaching out for the kitchen counter for some much-needed balance. She found herself face to face with Sansa; still in her bathrobe, by the looks of it un-showered, her phone clutched in her right hand and the most adorable blush on her cheeks. 

“Stop being dramatic, Marg. You are acting like it’s the first time you tell a girl you like her.” Loras’ voice was still sounding out of the speaker, pressed against her ear and in the silence in the kitchen, Margaery felt like Sansa had to be able to hear every single word. 

“I’ll call you back,” she told him curtly, ending the call and disposing the phone on the kitchen counter; not taking her eyes off of Sansa. 

Sansa was smiling and… damn it; being right about this was something Loras would never let her live down. 


End file.
